


Egos and Politics don't mix.

by Dragonsbain



Series: Glimpses of Mystrade. [3]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Multi, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6525373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonsbain/pseuds/Dragonsbain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has a disastrous day at work. Mycroft vents as hard as he works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Egos and Politics don't mix.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Mystrade prompt story. 
> 
> The prompts were:
> 
> 03: things you said too quietly.  
> 11: things you said when you were drunk.  
> 17: things you said that i wish you hadn’t.  
> 23: things you said [make your own].
> 
>  
> 
> This is going to grow a bit raw and serious. I am venting through Mycroft. I hope you all enjoy it.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Greg stepped into the parking area of The Yard. All he desired was a tranquil night in front of the telly. He needed to unwind and reset his mind. Greg was putting his case and papers into the boot of his auto.

“Greg!”

Greg turned around to see Anthea briskly walking towards him.

“Ant? What are you doing here? You guys are supposed to be “elsewhere”.“

Anthea leaned up against the car and slowed her breathing. The expression on her face was not positive.

“The negotiations were canceled.”

“In the middle?”

Anthea nodded.

Sherlock had danger nights. Mycroft had something worst. No one ever tried to label it. Nothing ever seemed appropriate. Black hole mood came the nearest.

Greg just looked at Anthea. She looked tired and beaten down.

“They are both breaking into it. We need to separate them.”

“Sam, too?”

“Yes.”

Greg just whistled.

“What do I need to know?”

“Everything that could go wrong did. All of the support personnel decided to call the conference before they all killed each other.”

Anthea snuggled into Greg.

“Mycroft didn’t start the fight. He was trying to break it up.”

Greg held her tightly. Hoping some of the stress and tension would let go. They experienced a moment of peace before they heard another car approach. Greg felt her deeply sigh.

The familiar Jag rolled up behind them. Max threw it in park and opened the door.

“Max?”

Max was overstrung. Max opened his boot and removed Mycroft’s bags. Greg immediately loaded them into the car. Max pulled him into a firm hug. Greg watched the rear doors of the car open. His mouth fell open in shock.  
Sam had his left arm in a sling. Mycroft had two black eyes.

“You meant a real fight!”

Anthea nodded.

“You two say adieu to each other.” Max ordered.

Sam and Mycroft gave each other a hug. Mycroft walked over and wrapped himself around Greg. Greg immediately noticed the scent of scotch on him.

“How much has he had, Ant?”

“Only two, Greg.”

Mycroft quietly mumbled into his shoulder:

“Not nearly enough Gregory.”

Greg opened the passenger door for Mycroft.

“Auggie.”

“Yes, Sam.”

“Maybe the they have it right. Let’s just arm everybody..”

The rest of Sam’s sentence was muffled by Max’s hand.

“Sammy, calm down. It will all be ok.”

Mycroft raised his hand. Max just stared at him.

“You two are exhausted, furious and disquieted. All of us need to relax and get our heads wrapped straight.”

Mycroft just lowered his hand and quietly got into the car. Max put Sam into the Jag and closed the door.

“Like I said, Greg. They are sparking off each other. Just try and get him to unwind. If you need us just…”

Anthea waved her camera phone.

“Good luck you two.”

“Same, Greg.”

Greg smiled at Mycroft. He tilted the seat back and closed his eyes. Greg felt Mycroft’s hand on his thigh.

_He is grounding himself._

Mycroft felt Greg touch him briefly. Mycroft squeezed his thigh. Greg turned enough to see Mycroft whisper a thank you. The rest of the drive was quiet.

Greg looked over at Mycroft as they pulled up the driveway. He seemed to be dozing.

_You sleep Myc. Just clear your head. It will all look better in the morning. I promise._

Greg quietly unloaded the car. He made everything ready inside before he came back for Mycroft.

“Myc. We are home.”

Mycroft shook himself awake. Greg was showing the beautiful smile reserved just for him. Mycroft pulled Greg down for a delicate kiss. Greg positioned his hands to carry him. Greg noted Mycroft’s eyes as he drew back. They were tumultuous. Greg stood up and held the door open.

“Thank you for the kind thought, Gregory. I can walk in.”

 _He is still cross_.

Greg silently followed him in. Greg had set out his pajamas. Mycroft laughed. Greg wasn’t sure if Mycroft wanted to be alone or not. Mycroft started handing him his suit.

_I’m not going anywhere. Just let me know what you need._

Mycroft continued undressing. The bruises were starting to take shape. Mycroft handed Greg all his weapons. The man was armed to the teeth. A bespoke suit can hide a lot. Two guns. A little pouch of knockout darts. Then two blades. One for each calf.

“Oh I wanted to utilize all of these. Only that wouldn’t be proper now would it?”

“No it wouldn’t.”

Mycroft threw Greg a look towards the weapons safe as he vanished into the loo. Greg secured the weapons.

_Your partner is furious and wants to get drunk. Myc, isn’t stupid but…_

Greg changed the code.

Mycroft walked to the kitchen where he found a bourbon and a luscious chocolate torte waiting on him.

Mycroft ate silently for a while.

“Sam had his shoulder dislocated by one of the ambassadors.”

Greg’s eyes opened wide.

“I had to hold him while Max put it back in the socket.”

Mycroft drained his bourbon. Greg refilled it.

"At least they waited for Anthea to leave the room. She was getting some extra files. So it was just all us gents in the room. Small favor."

“What about you?”

Mycroft shook his head.

“I can tell you it was two different people. I was grabbing guns out of a few hands and throwing them to Sam.”

“Someone wanted their gun back. Is that where you got one of your black eyes?”

Mycroft nodded.

“No shots were fired though. The whole thing took place in one minute and…”

Mycroft closed his eyes for a second.

“forty five seconds. Max, Anthea and the guards got in the room and the arguments started up again.”

Mycroft downed another bourbon. He reached across the table and took Greg’s hand.

“The only thing that stopped it was Sam’s scream when we put his arm back in.”

“What started the entire thing?”

“Territory. A room of fantastically sensitive egos. And all that rot.”

Mycroft sighed.

“What can I do to help?”

Mycroft smiled.

“Change human nature?”

They exchanged a sad smile. The room was quiet for a few moments. Greg’s camera phone gave the special ring he assigned to John. Mycroft nodded to answer it. Greg put it on speaker.

“Hello, Greg. Just wanted to check in.”

“Hi, John.”

Greg looked to Mycroft. Mycroft smiled.

“It has been an interesting evening.”

“Oh? How so?”

Mycroft turned on the video call.

* * *

Sherlock was looking at a rather interesting slide when he heard John shout:

“Jesus, Mycroft! What happened to you!?”

Sherlock appeared over John’s shoulder.

“Hello, brother mine. How do you fare this fine night?”

“Well. I am well.”

“Excuse, me everyone.”

* * *

Mycroft disappeared off the screen. Greg could hear Mycroft making his way to the loo.

“Greg?”

“All I know is that a fight started during negotiations. Mycroft was disarming everyone. Sam was attempting to secure the weapons. They ripped Sam’s arm out of the socket trying to get a gun back. Pounded on Mycroft. It took place in under two minutes. That is all I know so far.”

* * *

Mycroft ran up to the bedroom.

_My brother can shoot up the walls. Why can’t I?_

Mycroft couldn’t gain access to the safe.

 _Ah. Smart move Gregory_.

* * *

“I imagine you guys need to talk.”

“Yes. I’m letting him lead.”

“Wise idea.”

“He is drunk and cross Greg. I would recommend that we come over.”

“Thanks Sherlock. I think I have this.”

 

“Gregory!!”

Greg walked out to the main sitting room holding the phone. They all watched as Mycroft calmly stated:

“I feel like talking now. Is everyone listening?”

Mycroft got a round of Yes’s. They all watched as he produced a large broadsword and started swinging it like a baton.

* * *

 

Sherlock called for a cab. John nodded.

* * *

 

“Human beings are a curious species. We spent millennia coming in from the wilderness.”

Mycroft was just swinging the blade around. Greg was holding an eye on him and on John and Sherlock.

“The bigger our brains got. The more we had to fight”

Mycroft stopped to consider.

* * *

 

“Boredom.” Sherlock stated.

“Ah, yes. Your arch enemy little brother. Boredom.”

Sherlock grabbed their coats.

* * *

 

“The totality of human civilization is a construct to keep us warm, dry and less bored.”

Mycroft stopped and looked at Greg.

“Yes, Myc?”

“Is no one going to tell me what I left out of that sentence?”

Mycroft was leaning on the steel. Greg didn’t want to fan the fire anymore than necessary. Sherlock and John went down to wait for the cab.

“Gregory, my love, it is really sweet that you don’t desire to upset me any further. I assure you that is not possible. Thus, what is a word you can insert into that sentence?”

“Security.”

“Exactly, security.”

“First it was security against the elements. Then security against the remainder of the living things on the planet. Something you have to deal with on a daily basis, my love.”

* * *

 

John spotted the cab.

* * *

 

“How many murders this week Gregory?”

“One, Myc.”

Mycroft stopped.

“Really? That is a bit of sunshine.”

Mycroft raised an imaginary glass.

“To the wonderful Yard.”

* * *

 

Sherlock and John climbed into the cab.

“Where was I?”

“In the middle of a drunk diatribe about human existence.”

“I haven’t even started yet, Sherly.”

“I’m sure.” Sherlock mumbled to John.

* * *

 

“Look at all of this.”

Mycroft spreads his arms indicating the house.

“I have been fortunate enough to be birthed at the proper time, to the right people. That with a bit of work by myself all this is now mine.”

Mycroft walks over to the bottom of the primary staircase. A beautifully carved lion sits on the end of each handrail. He lovingly runs his hand over one of the lions.

“Exquisite and…”

Mycroft backs up.

“totally useless.”

Mycroft smoothly brings the blade down on the lion decapitating it. John nearly dropped the phone.

“Myc.”

Greg’s voice is firm and concerned.

“Gregory. I’m sure you must agree. All of art, literature and music are total nonsense.”

Greg looks on as the second lion’s head skitters across the floor.

“Myc. Put the blade down.”

“Why? Besides, you haven’t answered me.”

“What do you desire me to say?”

“I don’t desire you to say anything. Just answer me. What good is any of it?”

“It enriches our lives.”

“Poppycock.”

Mycroft swung the sword once more. Two carved paws joined the heads.

“Art is supposed to exemplify the highest form of culture.” Mycroft continued.

Another two paws clattered to the floor.

“Culture is to protect against our basic nature.”

Mycroft walked towards Greg.

“It doesn’t protect against anything.”

Mycroft swung and struck out a lamp to the right of Greg.

“Myc, please lay the sword down.”

Mycroft ignored Greg and continued.

“I sat in a room full of “cultured” people and a fight broke out.“

Mycroft started walking towards the rear of the house.

“Any thoughts why?”

* * *

 

“Greg please don’t drop the phone. We need to make sure you’re both ok.” John whispered.

* * *

 

“They are not really cultured?”

Mycroft turned and smiled at Greg.

“Yes, Gregory. But really none of us are.”

Mycroft raised the sword again and cracked a low table.

“Civilization is a thin veneer over humanity’s still very animal nature.”

“That is not true, Myc.”

“What!” Mycroft roared.

Greg backed up a couple steps. Mycroft saw confusion and a morsel of fear float over Greg’s face.

“Sorry Gregory. That is plainly not true.”

“Prove it.”

Mycroft leaned against the blade. He softly rubbed his eyes.

“Our jobs.”

Greg just stopped there. Sherlock and John stared at each other. Mycroft continued walking.

“I’m trotted off like a prize stallion and thrown into the ring. They desire me to return with a prize. What the bloody good is a treaty if I’m having a child die in my arms a few months later from a conflict that the treaty was supposed to terminate?? Please explain this.”

“You can’t save everyone.”

“Really?”

Mycroft shattered a vase. Greg could see where he was headed. He was terrified.

“Just sit down. Even better, get back to the kitchen.”

“I don’t desire to. As I was saying, primates in suits. That is all we were. Territorial animals. I saw one of my best friends get attacked because we…”

Mycroft stopped in front of the music room.

“Love please sit.”

“Oh, Gregory.”

Greg thought he had stopped him.

“Christ!! I figured it out.”

Mycroft kicked open the doors to the music room.

“What did you figure out?”

“The sole two that sustained injuries were Sam and I. All we tried to do was prevent the others from hurting themselves. That is the way it always works.”

“No. You are there to prevent that.”

“Prevent?? I can’t prevent anything.”

Mycroft started swinging the sword once more.

“Yes, you have.”

“No, I haven’t.”

Mycroft buried the blade into the sofa.

“I have merely delayed the inevitable.”

Mycroft hit the sofa again.

“I can’t even save my brother from himself.”

Mycroft is waving the sword extremely close to the piano. Greg puts the phone down to concentrate on calming Mycroft.

“Myc that is your baby. Don’t hurt her.”

“What does it matter!! The whole fact that I can play her has not stopped one conflict. Has not guaranteed one treaty. Has not saved one person."

Mycroft laid the sword across his arms like he was carrying a small child.

"Not one Gregory." 

Mycroft swung the blade above his head.

“She has saved you, idiot!”

Sherlock and John heard the snap and cracking of wood. Sherlock looked like he was going to be ill. John listened to a loud gasp. The next sound was the sword striking the floor. Followed by running feet.

“Greg!” Sherlock yelled.

“Sherlock deep breath. He isn’t going to respond now. He is handling Mycroft. Don’t holler at our driver either. He is moving as fast as he can.”

Sherlock took his phone and began texting. John watched.

“I’m telling Mycroft’s other better half what is going on.”

It took 15 minutes till they got to Mycroft’s house. Sherlock keyed the lock. He nearly stumbled over the pieces of the lions.

“Greg! Where are you!”’

Greg came down the stairs shushing them.

“Easy. I’m fine.”

Sherlock turned and ran to the music room.

“Slow down.”

John and Greg took off after him dodging the sword’s carnage on the way. John was relieved by Sherlock’s face.

“He simply destroyed the bench, John.”

“He dropped the blade. Ran to the loo. Threw up and passed out. I just put him in bed.”

“I need to call Anthea.”

“I hung up with her when you started shouting.”

“What do you want us to do?” Sherlock asked.

“Help me clean up?”

“Sure.” John responded.

“Then we can figure out what to do in the morning.”

Sherlock and John nodded at Greg.

* * *

 

(Two days later.)

 

Mycroft walked into the conference room. There was an audible gasp of surprise. Same players. Different expressions.

Mycroft eyes were buried in hues of black, blue and purple swollen skin. It was a conscious decision not to bury them under layers of make-up.

_Let them know what happened._

Sam quietly took his place aside the door. The sling and cast evident.

_This is “show and tell”. The adult edition._

Greg’s words giving him the encouragement he needed.

“I trust everyone received the memo I sent.”

Nods all around the table.

“Please take them out.”

Various weapons came into sight. Axes, clubs, spears and various blades appeared. Mycroft was happy they remembered the “no firearms” clause. Mycroft studied the expressions.

“Mr. Holmes why were we required to bring weapons?”

Mycroft studied the ambassador.

“Your favorite non-firearm weapon, sir. We all know everyone in this room was armed to the teeth last time.”

Mycroft let the various glances bounce off of him. Some were tinged with guilt.

_Hope does spring eternal._

“This is just an honest way of drawing near the problem.”

“This does nothing.”

“Pardon me for a moment.”

* * *

 

Mycroft turned around and crossed to the door. Anthea, Max and Greg were waiting on the other side. Greg held the sword out before him.

“Your sword. My liege.”

Mycroft gave a quick bark of laughter. Mycroft wanted to kiss him but settled for a deep bow.

“Wish me luck.”

“Myc. You don’t need any luck. You’ve got this.”

A circle of smiles later, Mycroft re-entered the room.

* * *

 

Mycroft held up a hand to hush up the chatter.

“I would like to tell a story.”

Mycroft casually swinging the blade closed all mouths.

“Then you are all going to do likewise.”

Calm silence settled on the room.

“I returned home from our first attempt at resolving this problem. Tried to relax and figure out what went awry. I was exhausted, furious and disquieted. Was I the only one?”

Mycroft watched as the others shook their heads.

“Good. I imbibed and gave myself over to what I was feeling.”

A few eyebrows shot upwards.

“This sword and I carved a destructive streak around my home. The casualties included a few lions.”

Mycroft flips the bits of the lions on the table. He starts walking around the table.

“A lamp. A vase. A few little tables. A couch.”

Mycroft can see impressed looks. Mycroft stops and holds the blade above his head. Mycroft noted a few hands inch towards the weapons. Mycroft lowered the sword.

“Then I nearly destroyed the one inanimate object that carries deep meaning.”

“What Mr. Holmes?”

“My piano. I am fortunate enough to have people who’s love for me overcame the fear of a drunk, ranting, idiot waving a blade in their face.”

“You are hardly an idiot, Mycroft.”

“Ah but I am. As I was contemplating hacking to bits the only beautiful thing I add to this world, I was forced to question why.”

Mycroft stood at the head of the table and leaned on the sword.

“And your answer is?”

“I felt useless and wretched. What good is any of the trappings of civilization if all we land up doing is killing each other?”

Mycroft held up his hand.

“That is a statement of fact. I represent millions. If I am feeling like this, what are they feeling?”

The room went deadly quiet.

* * *

 

“That’s my boy.” Max said as he took in the monitors.

Greg and Anthea just smiled.

John noted the pride beaming from Sherlock.

“Not a word John. Not one word.”

 


End file.
